Wild Wings by Margaret Rebecca Piper

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"Delighted," bowed the captain suavely and permitted Larry to take hisbag and lead the way to the car. Nothing more was said until the two menwere seated and the car had left the station yard.

"I am afraid I should have made my wire a bit more explicit," observedthe captain turning to Larry. "My wife says I am too parsimonious with mywords in telegrams--a British trait possibly." He spoke deliberately andhis keen eyes studied his companion's face as he made the casual remarkwhich set Larry's brain reeling. "See here, Holiday, I'm a blunt brute. Idon't know how to break things gently to people. But I am here to tellyou if you care to know that Elinor Ruth Farringdon is no more marriedthan you are unless she is married to you. That was her mother's weddingring. Lord, man, do you always drive a car like this? I've been all butkilled once this year and I don't care to repeat the experiment."

Larry grinned, flushed, apologized and moderated the speed of his motor.He wondered that he could drive at all. He felt strangely light as if hewere stripped of his body and were nothing but spirit.

"Do you mind if we drive about a bit and talk things over before I seeElinor--Ruth, as you call her? I'm funking that a little though I'vebeen trying ever since your brother told me the story to get used tothe idea of her being, well not quite right, you know. But I can'tstick it somehow."

"She is all right, perfectly normal every way except that she hadforgotten things." Larry's voice was faintly indignant. He resentedanybody's implying that Ruth was queer, unbalanced in any way. Shewasn't. She was absolutely sane, as sane as Captain Annersley himself,considerably more sane than Larry Holiday could take oath he was atthis moment.

"Good heavens! Isn't that enough?" groaned Annersley almost equallyindignant. "You forget or rather you don't know all she has forgotten. Iknow. I was brought up with her. Her father was my uncle and guardian. Weplayed together, had the same tutor, rode the same ponies, got into thesame jolly old scrapes. Why, Elinor's like my own sister, man. I can'tswallow her forgetting me and her brother Rod and all the rest as easilyas you seem to do. It--well, it's the limit as you say in the states."The captain wiped his forehead on which great drops of perspiration stoodin spite of the January chill in the air. There was agitation, suppressedvehemence in his tone.

"I suppose it is natural that you should feel that way." Larry spokethoughtfully as he turned the car away from the Hill in response to hisguest's request that he be permitted to postpone meeting Elinor RuthFarringdon a little while. "The remembering part hasn't bothered me somuch. Maybe I wasn't very keen on having her remember. Maybe I was afraidshe would remember too much," he added coloring a little.

The frown on his companion's stern young face melted at that. Thefrank, boyish smile appeared again. He liked Larry Holiday none the lessfor his lack of pretense. He understood all that. The younger Holidayhad taken pains to make things perfectly clear to him. He knew preciselywhat the young doctor was afraid of and why in case Elinor Farringdon'smemory returned.

"My uncle thinks and I think too that her memory will come back now thatit has the external stimulus to waken it," Larry continued. "I shouldn'tbe surprised if seeing you would give the necessary impetus. In fact I amcounting on that very thing happening, hoping for it with all my might.That was one of the reasons I was glad to have you come. Please believethat I should have been glad even if your coming had made her remembershe was your wife. Of course her recovery is the main thing. The restis--a side issue."

"A jolly important side issue I take it for her and for you. I'm not astranger, Doctor Holiday. I am Elinor Ruth Farringdon's cousin, in herbrother's absence I represent her family and in that capacity I wouldlike to say before I am a minute older that what you and the rest of youHolidays have done for Elinor passes anything I know of for sheerfineness and generosity. I'm not a man of words. War would have knockedthem out of me if I had been but when I remember that you not only savedElinor's life but took care of her afterward when she apparently hadn't afriend in the world--well, there isn't anything I can say but thank youand tell you that if there is ever anything I can do in return for you oryours you have only to ask. Neither Elinor nor I can ever repay you. Itis the sort of thing that is--unpayable." And again the captain wiped hisperspiring brow. He was deeply moved and emotion went hard with hisAnglo-Saxon temperament.

"We did nothing but what anybody would have been glad to do. If thereare any thanks coming they are chiefly due to my uncle and his wife. Butwe don't any of us want thanks. We love Ruth. Please forget the rest. Wewould rather you would."

The captain nodded quick approval. He had been told Americans wereboasters, given to Big-Itis. But either people got the Americans wrong orthese Holidays were an exception to the general run. He remembered thatother young Holiday whom he had met rather intimately in the Canadiancamp. There had been no side there either. His modesty had been one ofhis chief charms. And here was the brother quietly putting aside creditfor a course of conduct which was simply immense in its quixoticgenerosity. He liked these Holidays. There was something rathermagnificent about their simplicity--something almost British he thought.

"That is all very well," he made answer. "I won't talk about it if youprefer but you will pardon me if I don't forget that you saved mycousin's life and looked after her when she was in a desperately unhappysituation and her own people seemed to have utterly deserted her. And Iconsider my running into your brother at camp one of the sheerest piecesof good luck I've had these many days on all counts."

"How did it happen?" asked Larry.

"I was doing some recruiting work in the vicinity and they asked me tosay a few words to the lads in training. I did. Your brother was thereand lost no time in getting in touch with me when he heard who I was. Andjolly pleased I was to hear his story--all of it."

The speaker smiled at his companion.

"I mean that, Larry Holiday. Elinor and I were kid sweethearts. We usedto swear we were going to get married when we grew up. That was when shewas eight and I a man of twelve or so. I gave her the locket which madesome of the trouble as a sort of hostage for the future. We called herRuth in those days. It was her own fancy to change it to Elinor later.She thought it more grown up and dignified I remember. Then I went backto England to school. I didn't see her again until we were both grown upand then I married her best friend with her blessing and approval. Butthat is another story. Just now I am trying to tell you that I am readyto congratulate my cousin with all my heart if it happens that you wantto marry her as your brother seems to think."

"There is no doubt about what I want," said Larry grimly. "Whether it iswhat she wants is another matter. We haven't been exactly in a positionto discuss marriage."

"I understand. I'm beastly sorry to have been such an infernal dog in themanger unwittingly. The only thing I can do to make, up is to give myblessing and wish you best of luck in your wooing. Shall we shake on it,Larry Holiday, and on the friendship I hope you and I are going to have?"

And with a cordial man to man grip there was cemented a friendship whichwas to last as long as they both lived.

To relate briefly the links of the story some of which Larry Holiday nowheard as the car sped over the smooth, frost hardened roads which theopen winter had left unusually snowless and clean. Geoffrey Annersley hadbeen going his careless, happy go lucky way as an Oxford undergraduatewhen the sudden firing of a far off shot had startled the world and madewar the one inevitable fact. The young man had enlisted promptly and hadbeen in practically continuous service of one sort or another ever since.He had gone through desperate fighting, been four times wounded, and wasnow at last definitely eliminated from active service by a semi-paralyzedleg, the result of his last visit to "Blighty." He had been invalided theprevious spring and had been sent to Australia on a recruiting mission.Here he had renewed his acquaintance with his cousins whom he had notseen for years and promptly fell in love with and married pretty NancyHallinger, his cousin Elinor's chum.

The speedy wooing accomplished as well as the recruiting job which wasdispatched equally expeditiously and thoroughly Geoffrey prepared toreturn to France to get in some more good work against the Huns while hiswife planned to enter Red Cross service as a nurse for which she had beenin training for some time. Roderick had entered the Australian airservice and was already in Flanders where he had the reputation of beingone of the youngest and most reckless aviators flying which was sayingconsiderable.

It was imperative that some arrangement be made for Elinor who obviouslycould not be left alone in Sydney. It was decided in family conclave thatshe should go to America and accept the often proffered hospitality ofher aunt for a time at least. A cable to this effect had been dispatchedto Mrs. Wright which as later appeared never reached that lady as she wasalready on her way to England and died there shortly after.

Geoffrey had been exceedingly reluctant to have his young cousin take thelong journey alone though she had laughed at his fears and his wife hadabetted her in her disregard of possible disastrous consequences, tellinghim that women no longer required wrapping in tissue paper. The war hadchanged all that.

At his insistence however Ruth had finally consented to wear her mother'swedding ring as a sort of shadowy protection. He had an idea that thesmall gold band, being presumptive evidence of an existing male guardiansomewhere in the offing might serve to keep away the ill intentioned orover bold from his lovely little heiress cousin about whom he worried tono small degree.

They had gone their separate ways, he to the fierce fighting of May,nineteen hundred and sixteen, she to her long journey and subsequentstrange adventures. At first no one had thought it unnatural that theyheard nothing from Elinor. Letters went easily astray those days.Geoffrey was weeks without news even from his wife and poor Roderickwas by this time beyond communication of any kind, his name labeledwith that saddest of all tags--missing. It was not until Geoffrey wasout of commission with that last worst knock out, lying insensible,more dead than alive in a hospital "somewhere in France" that theothers began to realize that Elinor had vanished utterly from the kenof all who knew her. Some one who knew her by sight had chanced to seeher in California and had noted the wedding ring, hence the"unsubstantiated rumor" of her marriage in San Francisco, a rumor whichNancy half frantic over her husband's desperate illness was the onlyperson who was in a position to explain.

When Geoffrey came slowly back to the land of the living it was to learnthat his cousin Roderick was still reported missing and that Elinor waseven more sadly and mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth inspite of all effort to discover her fate. It had been a tragic comingback for the sick man. But an Englishman is hard to down and gradually hegot back health and a degree of hope and happiness. There would be nomore fighting for him but the War Department assured him there wereplenty of other ways in which he could serve the cause and he hadreadily placed himself at their disposal for the recruiting work in whichhe had already demonstrated his power to success in Australia.

Which brings us to the Canadian training camp and Ted Holiday. CaptainAnnersley had been asked as he had told Larry to speak to the boys. Hehad done so, given a little straight talk of what lay ahead of them andwhat they were fighting for, bade them get in a few extra licks for himsince he was out of it for good, done for, "crocked." In conclusion hehad begged them give the Huns hell. It was all he asked of them and fromthe look of them he jolly well knew they would do it.

While he was speaking he was aware all the time of a tall, blue-eyedyouth who stood leaning against a post with a kind of nonchalant grace.The boy's pose had been indolent but his eyes had been wide awake,earnest, responsive. Little by little the captain found himself talkingdirectly to the lad. What he was saying might be over the heads of someof them but not this chap's. He got you as the Americans say. He had thevision, would go wherever the speaker could take him. One saw that.

Afterwards the boy had sought out the recruiter to ask if by any chancehe knew a girl named Elinor Ruth Farringdon. It had been rather atremendous moment for both of them. Each had plenty to say that the otherwanted to hear. But the full story had to wait. Corporal Holiday couldn'trun around loose even talking to a distinguished British officer. Therewould have to be special dispensation for that and special dispensationstake time in an army world. It would be forthcoming however--to-morrow.

In the meantime Geoffrey Annersley had heard enough to want to know agreat deal more and thought he might as well make some inquiries on hisown. He wanted to find out who these American Holidays were, one of whomhad apparently saved his cousin Elinor's life and all of whom had, oneconcluded, been amazingly kind to her though the blue-eyed boy hadgracefully made light of that side of the thing in the brief synopsis ofevents he had had time to give to the Englishman. The captain had taken afancy to the narrator and was not averse to beginning his investigationas to the Holiday family with the young corporal himself.

Accordingly he tackled the boy's commanding officer, a young colonel withwhom he chanced to be dining. The colonel was willing to talk andGeoffrey Annersley discovered that young Holiday was rather by way ofbeing a top-notcher. He had enlisted as a private only a short time agobut had been shot speedily into his corporalship. Time pressed. Officerswere needed. The boy was officer stuff. He wouldn't stay a corporal. Ifall went well he would go over as a sergeant.

"We put him through though, just at first handled him rather nasty," thecolonel admitted with a reminiscent twinkle. "We do put the Americansthrough somehow, though it isn't that we have any grudge against 'em. Wehaven't. We like 'em--most of 'em and we have to admit it's rather decentof them to be here at all when they don't have to. All the same we give'em an extra twist of the discipline crank on general principles just tosee what they are made of. We found out mighty quick with this youngster.He took it all and came back for more with a 'sir,' and a salute and adevilish debonair, you-can't-down-me kind of grin that would havedisarmed a Turk."

"He doesn't look precisely meek to me," Annersley had said rememberingthe answering flash he had caught in those blue eyes when he was beggingthe boys to get in an extra lick against the Huns for his sake.

"Meek nothing! He has more spirit than any cub we've had to get intoshape this many a moon. It isn't that. It is just that he has the rightidea, had it from the start however he came by it. You know what it is,captain. It is obedience, first, last and all the time, the will to bewilled. A soldier's job is to do what he is told whether he likes it ornot, whether it is his job or not, whether it makes sense or not, whetherhe gets his orders from a man he looks up to and respects or whether hegets them from a low down cur that he knows perfectly well isn't fit toblack his boots--none of that makes any difference. It is up to him to dowhat he is told and he does it without a kick if he's wise. Young Holidayis wise. He'd had his medicine sometime. One sees that. I don't know whyhe dropped down on us like a shooting star the way he did, some collegefiasco I understand. He doesn't talk about himself or his affairs thoughhe is a frank outspoken youngster in other ways. But there was a look inhis eyes when he came to us that most boys of twenty don't have, thankthe Lord! And it is that look or what is behind it that has made him acehigh here. That boy struck bottom somewhere and struck it hard. I'll betmy best belt on that."

This interested Geoffrey Annersley. He thought he understood what thecolonel meant. There was something in Ted Holiday's eyes which betrayedthat he had already been under fire somehow. He had seen it himself.

"He is as smart as they make 'em," went on the colonel. "Quick as a flashto think and to see and to act, never loses his head. And he's a wonderwith the men, jollies 'em along when they are grousing or homesick, sets'em grinning from ear to ear when they are down-hearted, has a pat on theshoulder for this one and a jeer for that one. Old and young they areall crazy about him. They'd go anywhere he led. I tell you he's the stuffthat will take 'em over the top and make the boches feel cold in the pitof their fat tumtums when they see him coming. Lord, but the uselessnessof it though! He'll get killed. His kind always does. They are always infront. They are made that way. Can't help it. Sometimes they do comethrough though." The colonel flashed a quick admiring glance at his guestwho had also been the kind that was always in front and yet had somehowby the grace of something come through in spite of the hazards he had runand the deaths he had all but died. "You are a living witness to thatlittle fact," he added. "Lord love us! It's all in the game anyway and aman can die but once."

The next day Corporal Holiday was given a brief leave of absence fromcamp at the request of the distinguished British officer. Together thetwo went over the strange story of Elinor Ruth Farringdon and theHolidays' connection with the later chapters thereof. They decided not towrite to the Hill as Annersley was planning to go to Boston next daywhence he was to return soon to England his mission accomplished, andcould easily stop over in Dunbury on his way and set things right inperson, perhaps even by his personal presence renew Ruth's memory ofthings she had forgotten.

All through the pleasant dinner hour Ted kept wishing he could get thecaptain to talking about himself and his battle experiences and had noidea at all that he himself was being shrewdly studied as they talked."Good breeding, good blood-quality," the captain summed up. "If he is afair sample of young America then young America is a bit of all right."And if he is a fair sample of the Holiday family then Elinor had indeedfallen into the best of hands. Praise be! He wondered more than once whatthe young-corporal's own story was, what was the nature of the fiascowhich had driven him into the Canadian training camp and what was behindthat unboyish look which came now and then into his boyish eyes.

Later during the intimate evening over their cigarettes both had theircuriosity gratified. Captain Annersley was moved to relate some of hishair breadth escapes and thrilling moments to an alert and heroworshiping listener. And later still Ted too waxed autobiographical inresponse to some clever baiting of which he was entirely unaware thoughhe did wonder afterward how he had happened to tell the thing he had keptmost secret to an entire stranger. It was an immense relief to the boy totalk it all out. It would never haunt him again in quite the same way nowhe had once broken the barriers of his reserve. Geoffrey Annersley servedhis purpose for Ted as well as Larry Holiday.

Annersley was immensely interested in the confession. It matched verywell he thought with that other story of a gallant young Holiday to whomhis cousin Elinor owed so much in more than one way. They were a queerlot these Holidays. They had the courage of their convictions and tiltedat windmills right valiantly it seemed.

And then he fell to talking straight talk to Ted Holiday, saying thingsthat only a man who has lived deeply can say with any effect. He urgedthe boy not to worry about that smash of his. It was past history, overand done with. He must look ahead not back and be thankful he had comeout as well as he had.

"There is just one other thing I want to say," he added. "You think youhave had your lesson. Maybe it is enough but you'll find it a jolly loteasier to slip up over there than it is at home. You lose your sense ofvalues when there is death and damnation going all around you, get tofeeling you have a right to take anything that comes your way to even itup. Anyway I felt that way until I met the girl I wanted to marry. Thenthe rest looked almighty different. I've given Nancy the best I had togive but it wasn't good enough. She deserved more than I could give her.That is plain speaking, Holiday. Men say war excuses justify anything. Itdoesn't do anything of the sort. Some day you will be wanting to marry agirl yourself. Don't let anything happen in this next year over therethat you will regret for a life-time. That is a queer preachment and I'ma jolly rotten preacher. But somehow I felt I had to say it. You canremember it or forget it as you like."

The subject dropped then, went back to war and how men feel on the edgeof death, of the unimportance of death anyway.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET

Larry knocked at Ruth's door. It opened and a wan and patheticallydrooping little figure stood before him. Ever since she had been awakeRuth, had been haunted by that unwelcome bit of memory illumination whichhad come the night before. No wonder she drooped and scarcely dared tolift her eyes to her lover's face. But in a moment he had her in hisarms, a performance which banished the droop and brought a lovely colorback into the pale cheeks.

"Larry, oh Larry, is it all right? I'm not his wife? He didn't marry me?"

Larry kissed her.

"He didn't marry you. Nobody's going to marry you but me. No, I didn'tmean to say that now. Forget it, sweetheart. You are free, and if youwant to say so I'll let you go. If you don't want--"

"But I do want," she interrupted. "I want Larry Holiday and he is all Iwant. Why won't you ever, ever believe I love you? I do, more thananything in the world."

"You darling! Will you marry me? I shouldn't have asked you that othertime. I hadn't the right. But I have now. Will you, Ruth? I want you so.And I've waited so long."

"Listen to me, Larry Holiday." Ruth held up a small warning forefinger."I'll marry you if you will promise never, never to be cross to me again.I have shed quarts of tears because you were so unkind and--faithless. Iought to make you do some terrible penance for thinking the money oranything but you mattered to me. Not even the wedding ring mattered. Itold you so but still you wouldn't believe."

Larry shook his head remorsefully.

"Rub it in, sweetheart, if you must. I deserve it. But don't you think Ihave had purgatory enough because I didn't dare believe to punish me foranything? As for the rest I know I've been behaving like a brute. I've adevil of a disposition and I've been half crazy anyway. Not that that isany excuse. But I'll behave myself in the future. Honest I will, Ruthie.All you have to do is to lift this small finger of yours--" He indicatedthe digit by a loverly kiss "and I'll be as meek and lowly as--as an ashcan," he finished prosaically.

Ruth's happy laughter rang out at this and she put up her lips for akiss.

"I'll remember," she said. "You're not a brute, Larry. You're a darlingand I love you--oh immensely and I'll marry you just as quick as ever Ican and we'll be so happy you won't ever remember you have adisposition."

Another interim occurred, an interim occupied by things which arenobody's business and which anybody who has ever been in love can supplyad lib by exercise of memory and imagination. Then hand in hand the twowent down to where Geoffrey Annersley waited to bring back the past toElinor Farringdon.

"Does he know me?" queried Ruth as they descended.

"He surely does. He knows all there is to know about you, Miss ElinorRuth Farringdon. He ought to. He is your cousin and he married your bestfriend, Nan--"

"Wait!" cried Ruth excitedly, "it's coming back. He married NancyHollinger and she gave me some San Francisco addresses of some friends ofhers just before I sailed. They were in that envelope. I threw away theaddresses when I left San Francisco and tucked my tickets into it. Why,Larry, I'm remembering--really remembering," she stopped short on thestairs to exclaim in a startled incredulous tone.

"Of course you are remembering, sweetheart," echoed Larry happily. "Comeon down and remember the rest with Annersley's help. He is some cousin.You'd better be prepared to be horribly proud of him. He is a captain andwears all kinds of honorable and distinguished dingle dangles anddecorations as well as a romantic limp and a magnificent gash on hischeek which he evidently didn't get shaving."

Larry jested because he knew Ruth was growing nervous. He could feel hertremble against his arm. He was more than a little anxious as to theoutcome of the thing itself. The shock and the strain of meeting GeoffreyAnnersley were going to be rather an ordeal he knew.

They entered the living room and paused on the threshold, Larry's armstill around the girl. Doctor Holiday and the captain both rose. Thelatter limped gallantly toward Ruth who stared at him an instant and thenflung herself away from Larry into the other man's arms.

"Geoff! Geoff!" she cried.

For a moment nothing more was said then Ruth drew herself away.

"Geoffrey Annersley, why did you ever, ever make me wear that horridring?" she demanded reproachfully. "Larry and I could have married eachother months ago if you hadn't. It was the silliest idea anyway and it'sall your fault--everything."

He laughed at that, a, big whole-souled hearty laugh that came from thedepths of him.

And unexpectedly Ruth pursed her pretty lips and whistled a merry,lilting bar of melody.

"By Jove!" exulted the captain. "That does sound like old times."

"Don't tell me I don't remember," she flashed back happy and excitedbeyond measure at playing this new remembering game. "That was ourspecial call, yours and Rod's and mine. Oh Rod!" And at that all the joywent out of the eager, flushed face. She went back into her cousin'sarms again, sobbing in heart breaking fashion. The turning tide ofmemory had brought back wreckage of grief as well as joy. In GeoffreyAnnersley's arms Ruth mourned her brother's loss for the first time.Larry sent his uncle a quick look and went out of the room. The olderdoctor followed. Ruth and her cousin were left alone to pick up thedropped threads of the past.

They all met again at luncheon however, Ruth rosy cheeked, excited andred-eyed but on the whole none the worse for her journey back into theland of forgotten things. As Larry had hoped the external stimulus ofactually seeing and hearing somebody out of that other life was enough tostart the train. What she did not yet remember Geoffrey supplied andlittle by little the past took on shape and substance and Elinor RuthFarringdon became once more a normal human being with a past as well as apresent which was dazzlingly delightful, save for the one dark blur ofher dear Rod's unknown fate.

In the course of the conversation at table Geoffrey addressed his cousinas Elinor and was promptly informed that she wasn't Elinor and was Ruthand that he was to call her by that name or run the risk of beingdisapproved of very heartily.

He laughed, amused at this.

"Now I know you are real," he said. "It is exactly the tone you used whenyou issued the contrary command and by Jove almost the same words exceptfor the reversed titles. 'Don't call me Ruth, Geoff,'" he mimicked. "'Iam not going to be Ruth any more. I am going to be Elinor. It is a muchprettier name.'"

"Well, I don't think so now," retorted Ruth. "I've changed my mind again.I think Ruth is the nicest name there is because--well--" She blushedadorably and looked across the table at the young doctor, "because Larrylikes it," she completed half defiantly.

"Is that meant to be an official publishing of the bans?" teased hercousin when the laugh that Ruth's naive confession had raised subsidedleaving Larry as well as Ruth a little hot of cheek.

"If you want to call it that," said Ruth. "Larry, I think you might saysomething, not leave me everything to do myself. Tell them we are engagedand are going to be married--"

"To-morrow," put in Larry suddenly pushing back his chair and goingover to stand behind Ruth, a hand on either shoulder, facing theothers gallantly if obviously also embarrassedly over her shyly bentblonde head.

The blonde head went up at that, and was shaken very decidedly.

"No indeed. That isn't right at all," she objected. "Don't listen to himanybody. It isn't going to be tomorrow. I've got to have a wedding dressand it takes at least a week to dream a wedding dress when it is the onlytime you ever intend to be married. I have all the otherthings--everything I need down to the last hair pin and powder puff.That's why I went to Boston. I knew I was going to want pretty clothesquick. I told Doctor Holiday so." She sent a charming, half merry, halfdeprecating smile at the older doctor who smiled back.

"She most assuredly did," he corroborated. "I never suspected it was partof a deep laid plot however. I thought it was just femininity croppingout after a dull season. How was I to know it was because you wereplanning to run off with my assistant that you wanted all the gayplumage?" he teased.

Ruth made a dainty little grimace at that.

"That isn't a fair way to put it," she declared. "If I had beenplanning to run away with Larry or he with me we would have done itmonths ago, plumage or no plumage. I wanted to but he wouldn't anyway,"she confessed. "I like this way much, much better though. I don't wantto be married anywhere except right here in the heart of the House onthe Hill."

She slipped out of her chair and away from Larry's hands at that and wentover to where Doctor Philip sat.

"May we?" she asked like a child asking permission to run out and play.

"It is what we all want more than anything in the world, dear child," hesaid. "You belong with Larry in our hearts as well as in the heart of theHouse. You know that, don't you?"

"I know you are the dearest man that ever was, not even excepting Larry.And I am going to kiss you, Uncle Phil, so there. I can call you thatnow, can't I? I've always wanted to." And fitting the deed to the wordRuth bent over and gave Doctor Philip a fluttering little butterfly kiss.

They rose from the table at that and Ruth was bidden go off to her roomand get a long rest after her too exciting morning. Larry soberlyrepaired to the office and received patients and prescribed gravely forthem just as if his inner self were not executing wild fandangoes of joy.Perhaps his patients did get a few waves of his happiness however forthere was not one of them who did not leave the office with greater hopeand strength and courage than he brought there.

"The young doctor's getting to be a lot like his uncle," one of them saidto his wife later. "Just the very touch of his hand made me feel bettertoday, sort of toned up as if I had had an electrical treatment. Queerhow human beings can shoot sparks sometimes."

Not so queer. Larry Holiday had just been himself electrified by love andjoy. No wonder he had new power that day and was a better healer than hehad ever been before.

In the living room Doctor Philip and Captain Annersley held converse. Thecaptain expressed his opinion that Ruth should go at once to Australia.

"If her brother is dead as we have every reason to fear, Elinor--Ruth--isthe sole owner of an immense amount of property. The lawyers are aboutcrazy trying to keep things going without either Roderick or Ruth. Theyhave been begging me to come out and take charge of things for months butI haven't been able to see my way clear owing to one thing or another.Somebody will have to go at once and of course it should be Ruth."

"How would it do for her and Laurence both to go?"

"Magnificent. I was hoping you would think that was a feasible project.They will be glad to have a man to represent the family. My cousin knowsnothing about the business end of the thing. She has always approached itexclusively from the spending side. Do you think your nephew would careto settle there?"

"Possibly," said the Doctor. "That will develop later. They will have towork that out for themselves. I am rather sorry he is going to marry agirl with so much money but I suppose it cannot be helped."

"Some people wouldn't look at it that way, Doctor Holiday," grinned thecaptain. "But I am prepared to accept the fact that you Holidays are in aclass by yourselves. We have always been afraid that Elinor would be avictim of some miserable fortune hunter. I can't tell you what a reliefit is to have her marry a man like your nephew. I am only sorry he had togo through such a punishing period of suspense waiting for his happiness.Since there wasn't really the slightest obstacle I rather wish he had cuthis scruples and married her long ago."

"I don't agreed with you, Captain Annersley.. They are neither of themworse off for waiting and being absolutely sure that this is what theyboth want. If he had taken the risk and married her when he knew hehadn't the full right to do it he would have been miserable and made hermore so. Larry is an odd chap. There is a morbid streak in him. Hewouldn't have forgiven himself if he had done it. And losing his ownself-respect would have been the worst thing that could have happened tohim. No amount of actual legality could have made up for starting out ona spiritually illegal basis. We Holidays have to keep on moderately goodterms with ourselves to be happy," he added with a quiet smile.

"I suppose you are right," admitted the Englishman. "Anyway the thing isstraight and clear now. He has earned every bit of happiness that iscoming to him and I hope it is going to be a great deal. My own sense ofindebtness for all you Holidays have done for Ruth is enormous. I wishthere were some way of making adequate returns for it all. But it is toobig to be repaid. I may be able to keep an eye on your other nephew whenhe gets over. I certainly should like to. I don't know when I've takensuch a fancy to a lad. My word he is a ripping sort."

"Ted?" Doctor Holiday smiled a little. "Well, yes, I suppose he is whatyou Britishers call ripping. It has been rather ripping in another sensebeing his guardian sometimes."

"I judge so by his own account of himself. Yoxi mustn't let that smash ofhis worry you. He'll find something over there that will be worth ahundred times what any college can give him, and as for the rest half thelads of mettle in the world come to earth with a jolt over a girl sooneror later and they don't all rise up out of the dust as clean as he didby, a long shot."

"So he told you about that affair? You must have gotten under his skinrather surprisingly Ted doesn't talk much about himself and I fancy hehasn't talked about that thing at all to any one. It went deep."

"I know. He shows that in a hundred ways. But it hasn't crushed him ormade him reckless. It simply steadied him and I infer he needed somesteadying."

Doctor Holiday nodded assent to that and asked if he thought the boy wasdoing well up there.

"Not a doubt of it," said the Englishman heartily. And he added a briefsynopsis of the things that the colonel had said in regard to hisyoungest corporal.

"That is rather astonishing," remarked Doctor Holiday. "Obediencehasn't ever been one of Ted's strong points. In fact he has been arebel always."

"Most boys are until they perceive that there is sense instead of tyrannyin law. Your nephew has had that knocked into him rather hard and he isall the better for it tough as it was in the process. He is making goodup there. He will make good over seas. He is a born leader--a betterleader of men than his brother would be though maybe Larry is finerstuff. I don't know."

"They are very different but I like to think they are both rather finestuff. Maybe that is my partial view but I am a bit proud of them both,Ted as well as Larry."

"You have every reason," approved the captain heartily. "I have seen agood many splendid lads in the last four years and these two measure upin a way which is an eye opener to me. In my stupid insular prejudicemaybe I had fallen to thinking that the particular quality that marksthem both was a distinctly British affair. Apparently you can breed it inAmerica too. I'm glad to see it and to own it. And may I say one otherthing, Doctor Holiday? I have the D.S.C. and a lot of other junk likethat but I'd surrender every bit of it this minute gladly if I thoughtthat I would ever have a son that would worship me the way those lads ofyours worship you. It is an honor any man might well covet."

CHAPTER XXXVII

ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF

While Ruth and Larry steered their storm tossed craft of love into smoothhaven at last; while Ted came into his own in the Canadian training campand Tony played Broadway to her heart's content, the two Masseys down inMexico drifted into a strange pact of friendship.

Had there been no other ministrations offered save those of creaturecomfort alone Dick would have had cause to be immensely grateful to AlanMassey. To good food, good nursing and material comfort the young manreacted quickly for he was a healthy young animal and had no bad habitsto militate against recovery.

But there was more than creature comfort in Alan's service. Without thelatter's presence loneliness, homesickness and heartache would havegnawed at the younger man retarding his physical gains. With AlanMassey life even on a sick bed took on fascinating colors like a prismin sunlight.

For the sick lad's delectation Alan spun long thrilling tales, many ofthem based on personal experience in his wide travels in many lands. Hewas a magnificent raconteur and Dick propped up among his pillows drankit all in, listening like another Desdemona to strange moving accidentsof fire and flood which his scribbling soul recognized as superb copy.

Often too Alan read from books, called in the masters of the pen to setthe listener's eager mind atravel through wondrous, unexplored worlds.Best of all perhaps were the twilight hours when Alan quoted longpassages of poetry from memory, lending to the magic of the poet's arthis own magic of voice and intonation. These were wonderful moments toDick, moments he was never to forget. He drank deep of the soul vintagewhich the other man offered him out of the abundance of his experience asa life long pilgrim in the service of beauty.

It was a curious relation--this growing friendship between the two men.In some respects they were as master and pupil, in others were as man andman, friend and friend, almost brother and brother. When Alan Massey gaveat all he gave magnificently without stint or reservation. He did now.And when he willed to conquer he seldom if ever failed. He did not now.He won, won first his cousin's liking, respect, and gratitude and finallyhis loyal friendship and something else that was akin to reverence.

Tony Holiday's name was seldom mentioned between the two. Perhaps theyfeared that with the name of the girl they both loved there might returnalso the old antagonistic forces which had already wrought too muchhavoc. Both sincerely desired peace and amity and therefore the woman whoheld both their hearts in her keeping was almost banished from the talkof the sick room though she was far from forgotten by either.

So things went on. In time Dick was judged by the physician well enoughto take the long journey back to New York. Alan secured the tickets, madeall the arrangements, permitting Dick not so much as the lifting of afinger in his own behalf. And just then came Tony Holiday's letter toAlan telling him she was his whenever he wanted her since he had clearedthe shield forever in her eyes by what he had done for Dick. She trustedhim, knew he would not ask her to marry him unless he was quite freemorally and every other way to ask her. She wanted him, could not besurer of his love or her own if she waited a dozen years. He meant moreto her than her work, more than her beloved freedom more even thanHoliday Hill itself although she felt that she was not so much desertingthe Hill as bringing Alan to it. The others would learn to love him too.They must, because she loved him so much! But even if they did not shehad made her choice. She belonged to him first of all.

"But think, dear," she finished. "Think well before you take me. Don'tcome to me at all unless you can come free, with nothing on your soulthat is going to prevent your being happy with me. I shall ask noquestions if you come. I trust you to decide right for us both becauseyou lave me in the high way as well as all the other ways."

Alan took this letter of Tony's out into the night, walked with itthrough flaming valleys of hell. She was his. Of her own free will shehad given herself to him, placed him higher in her heart at last thaneven her sacred Hill. And yet after all the Hill stood between them, inthe challenge she flung at him. She was his to take if he could comefree. She left the decision to him. She trusted him.

Good God! Why should he hesitate to take what she was willing to give? Hehad atoned, saved his cousin's life, lived decently, honorably as he hadpromised, kept faith with Tony herself when he might perhaps have won heron baser terms than he had made himself keep to because he loved her asshe said "in the high way as well as all the other ways." He wouldcontrive some way of giving his cousin back the money. He did not wantit. He only wanted Tony and her love. Why in the name of all the devilsshould he who had sinned all his life, head up and eyes open, balk atthis one sin, the negative sin of mere silence, when it would give himwhat he wanted more than all the world? What was he afraid of? The answerhe would not let himself discover. He was afraid of Tony Holiday's cleareyes but he was more afraid of something else--his own soul which somehowTony had created by loving and believing in him.

All the next day, the day before they were to leave on the northernjourney, Alan behaved as if all the devils of hell which he had invokedwere with him. The old mocking bitterness of tongue was back, an evenmore savage light than Dick remembered that night of their quarrel was inhis green eyes. The man was suddenly acidulated as if he had over nightsuffered a chemical transformation which had affected both mind and body.A wild beast tortured, evil, ready to pounce, looked out of his drawn,white face.

Dick wondered greatly what had caused the strange reaction and seeingthe other was suffering tremendously for some reason or otherunexplained and perhaps inexplicable was profoundly sorry. Hisfriendship for the man who had saved his life was altogether too strongand deep to be shaken by this temporary lapse into brutality which hehad known all along was there although held miraculously in abeyancethese many weeks. The man was a genius, with all the temperamentalfluctuations of mood which are comprehensible and forgivable in agenius. Dick did not begrudge the other any relief he might find in hisdebauch of ill humor, was more than willing he should work it off on hishumble self if it could do any good though he would be immenselyrelieved when the old friendly Alan came back.

Twilight descended. Dick turned from the mirror after a critical surveyof his own lean, fever parched, yellow countenance.

"Lord! I look like a peanut," he commenced disgustedly. "I say, Massey,when we get back to New York I think I should choke anybody if I were youwho dared to say we looked alike. One must draw the line somewhere atwhat constitutes a permissible insult." He grinned whimsically at his ownexpense, turned back to the mirror. "Upon my word, though, I believe itis true. We do look alike. I never saw it until this minute. Funnythings--resemblances."

"This isn't so funny," drawled Alan. "We had the same great grandfather."

Dick whirled about staring at the other man as if he thought himsuddenly gone mad.

"What! What do you know about my great grandfather? Do you knowwho I am?"

"I do. You are John Massey, old John's grandson, the chap I told you oncewas dead and decently buried. I hoped it was true at the time but itwasn't a week before I knew it was a lie. I found out John Massey wasalive and that he was going under the name of Dick Carson. Do you wonderI hated you?"

Dick sat down, his face white. He looked and was utterly dazed.

"I don't understand," he said. "Do you mind explaining? It--it is alittle hard to get all at once."

And then Alan Massey told the story that no living being save himselfknew. He spared himself nothing, apologised for nothing, expressed noregret, asked for no palliation of judgment, forgiveness or evenunderstanding. Quietly, apparently without emotion, he gave back to theother man the birthright he had robbed him of by his selfish anddishonorable connivance with a wicked old man now beyond the power of anyvengeance or penalty. Dick Carson was no longer nameless but as helistened tensely to his cousin's revelations he almost found it in hisheart to wish he were. It was too terrible to have won his name at such acost. As he listened, watching Alan's eyes burn in the dusk in strangecontrast to his cool, liquid, studiously tranquil voice, Dick remembereda line Alan himself had read him only the other day, "Hell, the shadow ofa soul on fire," the Persian phrased it. Watching, Dick Carson saw beforehim a sadder thing, a soul which had once been on fire and was now butgray ashes. The flame had blazed up, scorched and blackened its path. Itwas over now, burnt out. At thirty-three Alan Massey was through, hadlived his life, had given up. The younger man saw this with a pang whichhad no reactive thought of self, only compassion for the other.

"That is all, I think," said Alan at last. "I have all the proofs of youridentity with me. I never could destroy them somehow though I have meantto over and over again. On the same principle I suppose that the sinningmonk sears the sign of the cross on his breast though he makes no outwardconfession to the world and means to make none. I never meant to makemine. I don't know why I am doing it now. Or rather I do. I couldn'tmarry Tony with this thing between us. I tried to think I could, that I'dmade up to you by saving your life, that I was free to take my happinesswith her because I loved her and she loved me. And she does love me. Shewrote me yesterday she would marry me whenever I wished. I could have hadher. But I couldn't take her that way. I couldn't have made her happy.She would have read the thing in my soul. She is too clean and honest andtrue herself not to feel the presence of the other thing when it camenear her. I have tried to tell myself love was enough, that it would makeup to her for the rest. It isn't enough. You can't build life orhappiness except on the quarry stuff they keep on Holiday Hill, right,honor, decency. You know that. Tony forgave my past. I believe she isgenerous enough to forgive even this and go on with me. But I shan't askher. I won't let her. I--I've given her up with the rest."

The speaker came over to where Dick sat, silent, stunned.

"Enough of that. I have no wish to appeal to you in any way. The nextmove is yours. You can act as you please. You can brand me as acriminal if you choose. It is what I am, guilty in the eyes of the lawas well as in my own eyes and yours. I am not pleading innocence. I ampleading unqualified guilt. Understand that clearly. I knew what I wasdoing when I did it. I have known ever since. I've never been blind tothe rottenness of the thing. At first I did it for the money because Iwas afraid of poverty and honest work. And then I went on with it forTony, because I loved her and wouldn't give her up to you. Now I'vegiven up the last ditch. The name is yours and the money is yours andif you can win Tony she is yours. I'm out of the face for good and all.But we have to settle just how the thing is going to be done. And thatis for you to say."

"I wish I needn't do anything about it," said Dick slowly after a moment."I don't want the money. I am almost afraid of it. It seems accursedsomehow considering what it did to you. Even the name I don't seem tocare so much about just now thought I have wanted a name as I have neverwanted anything else in the world except Tony. It was mostly for her Iwanted it. See here, Alan, why can't we make a compromise? You sayRoberts wrote two letters and you have both. Why can't we destroy the oneand send the other to the lawyers, the one that lets you out? It isnobody's business but ours. We can say that the letter has just falleninto your hands with the other proof that I am the John Massey that wasstolen. That would straighten the thing out for you. I've no desire tobrand you in any way. Why should I after all I owe you? You have made upa million times by saving my life and by the way you have given the thingover now. Anyway one doesn't exact payment from one's friends. And youare my friend, Alan. You offered me friendship. I took it--was proud totake it. I am proud now, prouder than ever."

And rising Dick Carson who was no longer Dick Carson but John Massey heldout his hand to the man who had wronged him so bitterly. The paraquet inthe corner jibbered harshly. Thunder rumbled heavily outside. An eerilyvivid flash of lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the dusk asthe two men clasped hands.

"John Massey!" Alan's voice with its deep cello quality was vibrant withemotion. "You don't know what that means to me. Men have called me manythings but few have ever called me friend except in lip service for whatthey thought they could get out of it. And from you--well, I can onlysay, I thank you."

"We are the only Masseys. We ought to stand together," said Dick simply.

Alan smiled though the room was too dark for Dick to see.

"We can't stand together. I have forfeited the right. You chose the highroad long ago and I chose the other. We have both to abide by ourchoices. We can't change those things at will. Spare me the publicrevelation if you care to. I shall be glad for Tony's sake. For myself itdoesn't matter much. I don't expect to cross your path or hers again. Iam going to lose myself. Maybe some day you will win her. She will beworth the winning. But don't hurry her if you want to win. She will haveto get over me first and that will take time."

"She will never get over you, Alan. I know her. Things go deep with her.They do with all the Holidays. You shan't lose yourself. There is no needof it. Tony loves you. You must stay and make her happy. You can now youare free. She need never know the worst of this any more than the rest ofthe world need know. We can divide the money. It is the only way I amwilling to have any of it."

Alan shook his head.

"We can divide nothing, not the money and not Tony's love. I told you Iwas giving it all up. You cannot stop me. No man has ever stopped me fromdoing what I willed to do. I have a letter or two to write now and soI'll leave you. I am glad you don't hate me, John Massey. Shall we shakehands once more and then--good-night?"

Their hands met again. A sharp glare of lightning lit the room withominous brilliancy for a moment. The paraquet screamed raucously. Andthen the door closed on Alan Massey.

An hour later a servant brought word to Dick that an American was belowwaiting to speak to him. He descended with the card in his hand. The namewas unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chicago, mining engineer.

The stranger stood in the hall waiting while Dick came down the stairs.He was obviously ill at ease.

"I am Hallock," announced the visitor. "You are Richard Carson?"

Dick nodded. Already the name was beginning to sound strange on his ears.In one hour he had gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was JohnMassey. And no longer needed Tony's name, dear as it was.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. Carson," the strangerproceeded. "You have a friend named Alan Massey living here with you?"

Again Dick nodded. He was apprehensive at the mention of Alan's name.

"There was a riot down there." The speaker pointed down the street. "Afuss over an American flag some dirty German dog had spit at. It didn'ttake long to start a life sized row. We are all spoiling for a chance tostick a few of the pigs ourselves whether we're technically at war ornot. A lot of us collected, your friend Massey among the rest. Iremember particularly when he joined the mob because he was so muchtaller than the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was going toan afternoon tea instead of getting into an international mess withnearly all the contracting parties drunk and disorderly. There was agood deal of excitement and confusion. I don't believe anybody knowsjust what happened but a drunken Mexican drew a dagger somewhere in themix up and let it fly indiscriminate like. We all scattered likemischief when we saw the thing flash. Nobody cares much for that kind ofplaything at close range. But Massey didn't move. It got him, clean inthe heart. He couldn't have suffered a second. It was all over in abreath. He fell and the mob made itself scarce. Another fellow and Iwere the first to get to him but there wasn't anything to do but look inhis pockets and find out who he was. We found his name on a card withthis address and your name scribbled on it in pencil. I say, Mr. Carson,I am horribly sorry," suddenly perceiving Dick's white face. "You care alot, don't you?"

"I am sorry," repeated the young engineer. "Mr. Carson, there issomething else I feel as if I had to say though I shan't say it to anyone else. Massey might have dodged with the rest of us. He saw it comingjust as we did. He waited for it and I saw him smile as it came--a queersmile at that. Maybe I'm mistaken but I have a hunch he wanted thatdagger to find him. That was why he smiled."

"I think you are entirely right, Mr. Hallock," said Dick. "I haven't anydoubt but that was why he smiled. He would smile just that way. Where--where is he?" Dick brushed his hands across his eyes as he asked thequestion. He had never felt so desolate, so utterly alone in his life.

"They are bringing him here. Shall I stay? Can I help anyway?"

Dick shook his head sadly.

"Thank you. I don't think there is anything any one can do. I--I wishthere was."

A little later Alan Massey's dead body lay in austere dignity in thehouse in which he had saved his cousin's life and given him back his nameand fortune together with the right to win the girl he himself had lovedso well. The smile was still on his face and a strange serenity ofexpression was there too. He slept well at last. He had lost himself ashe had proclaimed his intent to do and in losing had found himself. Onecould not look upon that calm white sculptured face without feeling that.Alan Massey had died a victor undaunted, a master of fate to the end.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE SONG IN THE NIGHT

Tony Holiday sat in the dressing room waiting her cue to go on the stage.It was only a rehearsal however. Miss Clay was back now and Tony was oncemore the humble understudy though with a heart full of happy knowledge ofwhat it is like to be a real actress with a doting public at her feet.

While she waited she picked up a newspaper and carelessly scanned itspages. Suddenly to the amazement and consternation of the other girl whowas dressing in the same room she uttered a sharp little cry and for thefirst time in her healthy young life slid to the floor in a mercifulfaint. Her frightened companion called for help instantly and it was onlya moment before Tony's brown eyes opened and she pulled herself up fromthe couch where they had laid her. But she would not speak or tell themwhat had happened and it was only when they had gotten her off in a cabwith a motherly, big hearted woman who played shrew's and villainess'parts always on the stage but was the one person of the whole cast towhom every one turned in time of trouble that the rest searched the paperfor the clew to the thing which had made Tony look like death itself. Itwas not far to seek. Tony looked like death because Alan Massey was dead.

They all knew Alan Massey and knew that he and Tony Holiday were intimatefriends, perhaps even betrothed. More than one of them had seen andremembered how he had kissed her before them all on the night of Tony'sfirst Broadway triumph and some of them had wondered why he had not beenseen since with her. So he had been in Mexico and now he was dead, hisheart pierced by a Mexican dagger. And Tony--Tony of the gay tongue andthe quick laughter--had the dagger gone into her heart too? It looked so.The "End of the Rainbow" cast felt very sad and sober that day. Theyloved Tony and just now she was not an actress to them but a girl who hadloved a man, a man who was dead.

Jean Lambert telegraphed at once for Doctor Holiday to come to Tony whowas in a bad way. She wouldn't talk. She wouldn't eat. She did not sleep.She did not cry. Jean thought if she cried her grief would not have beenso pitiful to behold. It was the stony, white silence of her that wasintolerable to witness.

In her uncle's arms Tony's terrible calm gave way and she sobbed herselfto utter weariness and finally to sleep. But even to him she would nottalk much about Alan. He had not known Alan. He had neverunderstood--never would understand now how wonderful, how lovable, howsplendid her lover had been. For several days she was kept in bed and thedoctor hardly left her. It was a hard time for him as well as hisstricken niece. Even their love for each other did not serve to lightenthe pain to any great extent. It was not the same sorrow they had. DoctorHoliday was suffering because his little girl suffered. Tony wassuffering because she loved Alan Massey who would never come to heragain. Neither could entirely share the grief of the other. Alan Masseywas between them still.

Finally Dick came and was able to give what Doctor Philip could not. Hecould sing Alan's praises, tell her how wonderful he had been, howgenerous and kind. He could share her grief as no one else could becausehe had learned to love Alan Massey almost as well as she did herself.

Dick talked freely of Alan, told her of the strange discovery which theyhad made that he and Alan were cousins and that he himself was JohnMassey, the kidnapped baby whom he had been so sorry for when he hadlooked up the Massey story at the time of the old man's death. Dick wasnot an apt liar but he lied gallantly now for Alan's sake and for Tony's.He told her that it was only since Alan had been in Mexico that he hadknown who his cousin was and had immediately possessed the other of thefacts and turned over to him the proofs of his identity as John Massey.

It was a good lie, well conceived and well delivered but the liar had notreckoned on that fatal Holiday gift of intuition. Tony listened to thestory, shut her eyes and thought hard for a moment. Then she opened hereyes again and looked straight at Dick.

"That is not the truth," she said. "Alan knew before he went to Mexico.He knew long before. That was the other ghost--the one he could not lay.Don't lie to me. I know."

And then yielding to her command Dick began again and told her the truth,serving Alan's memory well by the relation. One thing only he kept back.After all he had no proof that the young engineer had been right in hisconjecture that Alan had wanted the dagger to find him. There was no needof hurting Tony with that.

"Dick--I can't call you John yet. I can't even think about you to-nightthough I am so thankful to have you back safe and well. I can't be gladyet for you. I can't remember any one but Alan. You will forgive me, Iknow. But tell me. It was a terrible thing he did to you. Do you forgivehim really?" The girl's deep shadowed eyes searched the young man's face,challenging him to speak the truth and only that.

He met the challenge willingly. He had nothing to conceal here. Tonymight read him through and through and she would find in him neither hatenor rancor, nor condemnation.

"Of course I forgive him, Tony. He did a terrible thing to me you say.He did a much more terrible thing to himself. And he made up foreverything over and over by what he did for me in Mexico. He might havelet me die. I should have died if he had not come. There is no doubt inthe world of that. He could not have done more if he had been my ownbrother. He meant me to like him. He did more. He made me love him. Hewas my friend. We parted as friends with a handshake which was hisgood-by though I didn't know it."

It was a fatal speech. Too late Dick realized it as he saw Tony's face.

"Dick, he meant to let himself get killed. I've thought so all along andnow I know you think so too."

"I didn't mean to let that out. Maybe I am mistaken. We shall never know.But I believe he was not sorry to let the dagger get him. He had given upeverything else. It wasn't so hard for him to give up the one thingmore--the thing he didn't want anyway--life. Life wasn't much to himafter he gave you up, Tony. His love was the biggest thing about him. Ilove you myself but I am not ashamed to say that his love was a biggerthing than mine every way, finer, more magnificent, the love of a geniuswhereas mine is just the love of an every day man. It was love thatsaved him."

"Dick, do you believe that the real Alan is dust--nothing but dust downin a grave?" demanded Tony suddenly.

"No, Tony, I don't. I can't. The essence of what was best in him is alivesomewhere. I know it. It must be. His love for you--for all beauty--theycouldn't die, dear. They were big enough to be immortal."

If she had not been sure already that Alan had meant to go out of herlife even if he had not meant to go to his death when he left New Yorkshe would have been convinced a little later. Alan's Japanese servantbrought two gifts to her from his honorable master according to hishonorable master's orders should he not return from his journey. Hishonorable master being unfortunately dead his unworthy servant laid thegifts at Mees Holiday's honorable feet. Whereupon the bearer had departedas quietly as death itself might come.

One of the gifts was a picture, a painting which Tony had seen, and whichwas she thought the most beautiful of all his beautiful creations. Itssheer loveliness would have hurt her even if it had had no othersignificance and it did have a very real message.

At first sight the whole scene seemed enveloped in translucent, silvermist. As one looked more closely however there was revealed the figure ofa man, black clad in pilgrim guise, kneeling on the verge of aprecipitous cliff which rose out of a seemingly bottomless abyss ofterrific blackness. Though in posture of prayer the pilgrim's head waslifted and his face wore an expression of rapt adoration. Above a filmof fog in the heavens stretched a clear space of deep blue black sky inwhich hung a single luminous star. From the star a line of golden lightof unearthly radiance descended and finding its way to the upliftedtransfigured face of the kneeling pilgrim ended there.

Tony Holiday understood, got the message as clearly as if Alan himselfstood beside her to interpret it. She knew that he was telling herthrough the picture that she had saved his soul, kept him out of theabyss, that to the end she was what he had so often called her--his star.

With tear blinded eyes she turned from the canvas to the little silverbox which the servant had placed in her hands together with a sealedenvelope. In the box was a gorgeous, unset ruby, the gem of Alan'scollection as Tony well knew having worshiped often at its shrine. It laythere now against the austere purity of its white satin background--thesymbol of imperishable passion.

Reverently Tony closed the little box and opened the sealed envelopedreading yet longing to know its contents. Alan had sent her no word offarewell, had not written to her that night before he went out into thestorm to meet his death, had made no response to the letter she herselfhad written offering herself and her love and faith for his taking. Atfirst these things had hurt her. But these gifts of his were beginning tomake her understand his silence. Selfish and spectacular all his life athis death Alan Massey had been surpassingly generous and simple. He hadchosen to bequeath his love to her not as an obsession and a bondage butas an elemental thing like light and air.

The message in the envelope was in its way as impersonal as the ruby hadbeen but Tony found it more hauntingly personal than she had ever foundhis most impassioned love letter. Once more the words were couched in thesymbol tongue of the poet in India--in only two sentences, but sentencesso poignant that they stamped themselves forever on Tony Holiday's mindas they stood out from the paper in Alan's beautiful, strikinghandwriting.

"When the lighted lamp is brought into the room I shall go. And then perhaps you will listen to the night, and hear my song when I am silent."

The lines were dated on that unforgettable night when Tony had playedBroadway and danced her last dance with her royal lover. So he had knowneven then that he was giving her up. Realizing this Tony realized as shenever had before the high quality of his love. She could guess a littleof what that night had meant to him, how passionately he must havedesired to win through to the full fruition of his love before he gaveher up for all the rest of time. And she herself had been mad that nightTony remembered. Ah well! He had been strong for them both. And now theirlove would always stay upon the high levels, never descend to the ways ofearth. There would never be anything to regret, though Tony loving herlover's memory as she did that moment was not so sure but she regrettedthat most of all.

Yet tragic as Alan's death was and bitterly and sincerely as she mournedhis loss Tony could see that he had after all chosen the happiest wayout for himself as well as for her and his cousin. It was not hard toforgive a dead lover with a generous act of renunciation his last deed.It would have been far less easy to forgive a living lover with such astain upon his life. Even though he tried to wash it away by hissurrender and she by her forgiveness the stain would have remainedineradicable. There would always have been a barrier between them forall his effort and her own.

And his love would ill have borne denial or frustration. Without her hewould have gone down into dark pits if he had gone on living. Perhaps hehad known and feared this himself, willing to prevent it at any cost.Perhaps he had known that so long as he lived she, Tony, would never havebeen entirely her own again. His bondage would have been upon her even ifhe never saw her again. Perhaps he had elected death most of all for thisreason, had loved her well enough to set her free. He had told her oncethat love was twofold, a force of destruction and damnation but also aforce of purification and salvation. Alan had loved her greatly, perhapsin the end his love had taken him in his own words "to the gate ofHeaven." Tony did not know but she thought if there really was a God hewould understand and forgive the soul of Alan Massey for that lastsplendid sacrifice of his in the name of love.

And whatever happened Tony Holiday knew that she would bear forever themark of Alan Massey's stormy, strange, and in the end all-beautiful love.Perhaps some day the lighted lamp might be brought in. She did not know,would not attempt to prophesy about that. She did not know that she wouldalways listen to the night for Alan Massey's sake and hear his songthough he was silent forever.

The next day Richard Carson officially disappeared from the world andJohn Massey appeared in his place. The papers made rather a strikingstory of his romantic history and its startling denouement which hadcome they said through the death bed confessions of the man Roberts whichhad only just reached the older Massey's hands, strangely enough on theeve of his own tragic death, which was again related to make the tale alittle more of a thriller. That was all the world knew, was ever to knowfor the Holidays and John Massey kept the dead man's secret well.

And the grass grew green on Alan Massey's grave. The sun and dew and rainlaid tender fingers upon it and great crimson and gold hearted rosesstrewed their fragrant petals upon it year by year. The stars he hadloved so well shone down upon the lonely spot where his body slept quietat last after the torment of his brief and stormy life. But otherwise, asJohn Massey and Tony Holiday believed, his undefeated spirit fared onsplendidly in its divine quest of beauty.

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN WHICH THE TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

The winter had at last decided to recapture its forsaken role of the SnowKing. For two days and as many nights the air had been one swirl of snowwhich shut out earth and sky. But on the third morning the Hill woke to adazzling world of cloudless blue and trackless white. A resplendentbride-like day it was and fitly so for before sundown the old House onthe Hill was to know another bride. Elinor Ruth Farringdon's affairsrequired her immediate attention in Australia and she was leavingto-night for that far away island which was again now dear to her heartas the home of her happy childhood, the memory of which had now allreturned after months of strange obliteration. But she would not go asElinor Ruth Farringdon. That name was to be shed as absolutely as herrecollection of it had once been shed. She would go as Mrs. LaurenceHoliday with a real wedding ring all her own and a real husband also allher own by her side.

There were to be no guests outside the family except for the Lamberts,Carlotta and Dick--John Massey, as they were now trying to learn to callhim. The wedding was to be very quiet not only because of Granny butbecause they were all very pitiful of Tony's still fresh grief, the moreso because she bore it so bravely and quietly, anxious lest she cast anyshadow upon the happiness of the others, especially that of Larry andRuth. In any case a quiet wedding would have been the choice of the twowho were most concerned. They wanted only their near and dear about themwhen they took upon themselves the rites which were to unite them for therest of their two lives.

Aside from Tony's sorrow the only two regrets which marred the householdjoy that bride white day were Ted's absence and imminent departure forFrance and that other even soberer remembrance of that other gallantyoung soldier, Ruth's brother Roderick of whom no news had come, thoughRuth insisted that Rod wasn't dead, that he would came back just as hervivid memory of him had returned.

And it happened that her faith was rewarded and on the very day of dayswhen one drop more of happiness made the cup fairly spill over. Larry wassummoned to the telephone just as he had been once before on a certainmemorable occasion to be told that a cabled message awaited him. Themessage was from Geoffrey Annersley and bore besides his love andcongratulations the wonderful news that Roderick Farringdon had escapedfrom a German prison camp and was safe in England.

Ruth shed many happy tears over this best of all bridal gifts, not enoughto dim the shining blue of her eyes but enough to give them a lovely,misty tenderness which made her sweeter than ever Larry thought, and whoshould have magic eyes if not a bridegroom?

A little later came Carlotta and Dick, the latter well and strong againbut thin and pale and rather sober. Tony loved him for grieving for Alanas she knew he did. He too had known and loved the dead man andunderstood him perhaps better than she had herself. For after all no manand woman can ever fully understand each other especially if they are inlove. So many faint nuances of doubt and fear and pride and passion andjealousy are forever drifting between lovers obscuring clarity of vision.

Carlotta was prettier than ever with a new sweetness and womanlinesswhich her love had wrought in her during the year. People who had knownher mother said she was growing daily more like Rose though always beforethey had traced a greater resemblance to the other side of the house, toher Aunt Lottie particularly. She and Philip were to be married in thespring. "When the orioles come" Carlotta had said remembering herfather's story of that other brief mating.

Tony and Carlotta slipped away from the others to talk bythemselves. Carlotta too had known and liked Alan and to all suchTony clung just now.

"He was so different at the end," she said to her friend. "I wish youcould have known him that way--so dear and gentle and wonderful. He kepthis promise everyway, lived absolutely straight and clean and fine."

"He did it for you, Tony. He never could have done it for himself. Hewouldn't have thought it worth while. Don't tell me if you don't want tobut I have guessed a good many things since I knew about Dick and I havewondered if he wasn't rather glad--to get killed."

"Yes, Dick thinks and I think too that he let the dagger find him. Ihave always called him my royal lover. His death was the most royalpart of all."

Carlotta was silent. She hoped that somewhere Alan was finding thehappiness he seemed always to have missed on earth. Then seeing herfriend's lovely eyes with the heavy shadow in them where there had beenonly sunshine before her heart rebelled. Poor Tony! Why must she sufferlike this? She was so young. Was life really over for her? For Carlottain her own happiness life and love were synonymous terms. Something ofwhat was in her mind she said to her friend.

"I don't know," confessed Tony. "It is too soon to tell. Just now Alanfills every nook and cranny of me. I can't think of any other man orimagine myself loving anybody else as I loved him. But I am a very muchalive person. I don't believe I shall give myself to death forever. Alanhimself wouldn't want it so. A part of me will always be his but thereare other margins of me that Alan never touched and these maybe I shallgive to some one else when the time comes."

"Does that mean Dick--John Massey?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I have told him not to speak of love for a long, longtime. We must both be free. He is going to France as a war correspondentnext week."

"Don't you hate to have him go?"

"Yes, I do. But I can't be selfish enough to keep him hanging round meforever on the slim chance that some time I shall be willing to marryhim. He is too fine to be treated like that. He wants to go overseasunless I will marry him now and I can't do that. It is better that weshould be apart for a while. As for me I have my work and I am going toplunge into it as deep and hard as I can. I am not going to be unhappy.You can't be unhappy when you love your work as I love mine. Don't besorry for me, Carlotta. I am not sorry for myself. Even if I never lovedagain and never was loved I should still have had enough for a life time.It is more than many women have, more than I deserve."

The bride white day wore on to twilight and as the clock struck the hourof five Ruth Farringdon came down the broad oak staircase clad in theshining splendor of the bridal gown she had "dreamed," wearing hergrandmother's pearls and the lace veil which Larry's lovely mother hadworn as Ned Holiday's bride long and long ago. At the foot of the stairsLarry waited and took her hand. Eric and Hester flanking the living roomdoor pushed aside the curtains for the two who still hand in hand walkedpast the children into the room where the others were assembled. Gravelyand brimming with importance the guard of honor followed, the latterbearing the bride's bouquet, the former squeezing the wedding ring in hissmall fist. Ruth took her place beside the senior doctor. The ministeropened his mouth to proceed with the ceremony, shut it again with alittle gasp.

For suddenly the curtains were swept aside again, this time with abreezier and less stately sweep and Ted Holiday in uniform and sergeant'sregalia plunged into the room, a thinner, browner, taller Ted, with a newkind of dignity about him but withal the same blue-eyed lad with the oldheart warming smile, still always Teddy the beloved.

"Don't mind me," he announced. "Please go on." And he slipped intoa place beside Tony drawing her hand in his with a warm pressure ashe did so.

They went on. Laurence LaRue Holiday and Elinor Ruth Farringdon were mademan and wife till death did them part. The old clock on the mantel whichhad looked down on these two on a less happy occasion looked on still,ticking away calmly, telling no tales and asking no questions. What was amarriage more or less to time?

The ceremony over it was the newly arrived sergeant rather than the brideand groom who was the center of attraction and none were better pleasedthan Larry and Ruth to have it so.

It was a flying visit on Ted's part. He had managed to secure a lastminute leave just before sailing from Montreal at which place he had toreport the day after to-morrow.

"So let's eat, drink, and be merry," he finished his explanation gayly."But first, please, Larry, may I kiss the bride?"

"Go to it," laughed his brother. "I'm so hanged glad to see you Kid, I'vehalf a mind to kiss you myself."

Needing no further urging Ted availed himself of the proffered privilegeand kissed the bride, not once but three times, once on each rosy cheek,and last full on her pretty mouth itself.

"There!" he announced standing off to survey her, both her hands still inhis possession. "I've always wanted to do that and now I've done it. Ifeel better."

Everybody laughed at that not because what he said was so veryamusing as because their hearts were so full of joy to have theirrepressible youngest Holiday at home again after the long anxiousweeks of his absence.

Under cover of the laugh he whispered in Ruth's ear, "Gee! But I'mglad you are all right again, sweetness. And your Geoffrey Annersleyis some peach of a cousin, I'm telling you, though I'm confoundedlyglad he decided he was married to somebody else and left the coastclear for Larry."

He squeezed her hand again, a pressure which meant more than his wordsas Ruth knew and then he turned to Larry. The hands of the two brothersmet and each looked into the other's face, for once unashamed of theemotion that mastered them. Characteristically Ted was the first torecover speech.

"Larry, dear old chap, I wish I could tell you how happy I am that ithas come out so ripping right for you and Ruth. You deserve all the luckand love in the world. I only wish mother and dad could be here now.Maybe they are. I believe they must know somehow. Dad seems awfully closeto me lately especially since I've been in this war business." Thenseeing Larry's face shadow he added, "And you mustn't worry about me, oldman. I am going to come through and it is all right anyway whateverhappens. You know yourself death isn't so much--not such a horriblecalamity as we talk as if it were."

"I know. But it is horribly hard to reconcile myself to your going. Ican't seem to make up my mind to accept it especially as you needn'thave gone."

"Don't let that part bother you. The old U.S.A. will be in it herselfbefore you know it and then I'd have gone anyway. Nothing would have keptme. What is the odds? I am glad to be getting in on the front row myself.I am going to be all right I tell you. Going to have a bully time andwhen we have the Germans jolly well licked I'm coming home and find me aspretty a wife as Ruth if there is one to be found in America and marryher quick as lightning."

Larry smiled at that. It was so like Ted it was good to hear. Andirrationally enough he found himself more than a little reassured andcomforted because the other lad declared he was going to be all right andhave a bully time and come back safe when the job was done.

"And I say, Larry." Ted's voice was soberer now. "I have always wantedto tell you how I appreciated your standing by me so magnificently inthat horrible mess of mine. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had feltlike throwing me over for life after my being such a tarnation idiotand disgracing the family like that. I'll never forget how white you andUncle Phil both were about it every way and maybe you won't believe itbut there'll never be anything like that again. There are some thingsI'm through with--at least if I'm not I'm even more of a fool than Ithink I am."

"Don't, Ted. I haven't been such a model of virtue and wisdom that I canafford to sit in judgment on you. I've learned a few things myself thisyear and I am not so cock sure in my views as I was by a long shot.Anyway you have more than made up by what you have done since and whatyou are going to do over there. Let's forget the rest and just rememberthat we are both Holidays, and it is up to both of us to measure up toDad and Uncle Phil, far as we can."

"Some stunt, what?" Thus Ted flippantly mixed his familiar American andnewly acquired British vernacular. "You are dead right, Larry. I amafraid I'm doomed to land some nine miles or so below the mark but I'mgoing to make a stab at it anyway."

Later there was a gala dinner party, an occasion almost as gay as thatRound Table banquet over eight years ago had been when Dick Carson hadbeen formally inducted into the order and Doctor Holiday had announcedthat he was going to marry Miss Margery. And as before there waslaughter and gay talk and teasing, affectionate jest and prophecymingled with the toasting.

There were toasts to the reigning bride and groom, Larry and Ruth, to thecoming bride and groom Philip and Carlotta, to Tony, the understudy thatwas, the star that was to be; to Dick Carson that had been, John Masseythat was, foreign correspondent, and future famous author. There was aparticularly stirring toast to Sergeant Ted who would some day bereturning to his native shore at least a captain if not a major with allkinds of adventures and honors to his credit. Everybody smiled gallantlyover this toast. Not one of them would let a shadow of grief or dread forTeddy the beloved cloud this one happy home evening of his before he leftthe Hill perhaps forever. The Holidays were like that.

And then Larry on his feet raised his hand for silence.

"Last and best of all," he said, "I give you--the Head of the House ofHoliday--the best friend and the finest man I know--Uncle Phil!"

Larry smiled down at his uncle as he spoke but there was deepfeeling in his fine gray eyes. Better than any one else he knew howmuch of his present happiness he owed to that good friend and fineman Philip Holiday.

The whole table rose to this toast except the doctor, even to the smallEric and Hester who had no idea what it was all about but found it allvery exciting and delightful and beautifully grown up. As they drankthe toast Ted's free hand rested with affectionate pressure on hisuncle's and Tony on the other side set down her glass and squeezed hishand instead. They too were trying to tell him that what Larry hadspoken in his own behalf was true for them also. They wanted to havehim know how much he meant to them and how much they wanted to do andbe for his dear sake.

Perhaps Philip Holiday won his order of distinguished service then andthere. At any rate with his own children and Ned's around him, with thewife of his heart smiling down at him from across the table with proud,happy, tear wet eyes, the Head of the House of Holiday was content.